


do not resuscitate (unless you reciprocate)

by theamazingbard



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:22:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28032339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theamazingbard/pseuds/theamazingbard
Summary: “Thanks, by the way. For uh, making sure I didn’t...” Jaskier sweeps a finger across his neck.Geralt turns away. “You said you loved me.”“Oh,” He taps his fingers against the blanket. A familiar song. “Yes, I did. But! But. We can absolutely forget about all that."-Sure he was going to die, Jaskier makes a grand declaration of love.It's rather unfortunate that his dramatic confession be undercut by his survival.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 19
Kudos: 374





	do not resuscitate (unless you reciprocate)

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from my tumblr

The most surprising thing about Jaskier waking up is that he’s waking up at _all._

In fact, he distinctly remembers several arrows making their home in his chest and subsequently watching the stars go blurry in the night.

Terribly dreadful. Supposedly final.

But now he’s awake. His chest is bandaged tightly. Somewhat uncomfortably, one might say. He’s in a bed. The smell of herbs is thick in the air. And there’s a fire roaring in a lovely little fireplace a few feet away.

It is decidedly less dramatic, he thinks, to not die. Especially after he told Geralt-

Oh fuck.

Slowly, he turns his head, surveying the room. The drama he was looking for is sitting in a chair in the darkest corner of the room.

Geralt.

Oh, _fuck._

There is no glow of those golden eyes, thankfully. He’s either asleep or meditating.

Well! If Jaskier was looking to have his heart broken, he would have just told Geralt long ago! It would have been much easier. And he probably would have gotten over this. Probably. Maybe.

He’s not looking forward to hearing whatever Geralt’s thoughts are on his... impassioned speech he was sure would be his last. And, if he really thinks about it, he doesn’t have to listen to it at all!

Luckily, he’s had plenty of practice escaping uncomfortable situations.

Jaskier sits up, biting his lip. This whole escape is made more difficult due to his injuries. Stupid arrows. Stupid body. Stupid... almost dying!

Fuck!

Against his will, he lets out a small groan. He grits his teeth, praying to darling Melitele above to spare him.

Spare him she does, as Geralt is still unaware.

What a generous Goddess she is.

Pain of the body is not comparable to pain of the heart. So Jaskier will brave the aches and the pains and the scars. And the cold floor.

Fuck, that is a really cold floor. Apparently the healer Geralt has brought him to has neglected to put socks on his feet. In _mid-autumn._

Whoever it is will certainly be hearing from him.

In the form of a song, of course. And far, far away from here.

First, though. Window. He tip toes across the room with one hand clutched at his chest. Wherever he goes next better have a different healer. Or at the very least, some pain medication. Or alcohol. Lots and lots of alcohol.

Once at the window, he turns to take one last sweet look at the slumbering witcher. The journey was difficult, and though his aim to avoid a broken heart was his primary goal, he still feels the cracks in the offending muscle grow deeper. 

Jaskier sighs. Fuck. He’s really going to miss him.

The last look lasts for longer than is probably safe.

But leave he must.

And so he lifts his leg to escape through the window.

“Jaskier.”

“Fuck!” Jaskier nearly falls over, but he’s caught in strong arms. He looks up to see two serious glowing, golden eyes. “Oh! Geralt! Don’t mind me. I was... just stepping out for some fresh air!”

“In mid-autumn?” Geralt replies, raising a brow.

Jaskier shrugs. Then winces.

“Hm.”

He’s promptly directed back to bed. Geralt sits on the edge, right by his legs. Jaskier crosses his arms, looking towards the window. Well. At least he’s warm.

“Any particular reason you tried to run away?”

“I told you, I-”

“That was a bullshit excuse. And a bad one.”

If Jaskier could cross his arms harder, he would. Instead, all he can think to with his arms is to throw them up in the air! Which leaves him wincing again. “Really! You want to talk. You. Famously taciturn, allergic-to-feelings witcher-man wants to talk. Seems rather unfair, don’t you think?”

“You almost died.”

When Jaskier looks at Geralt, he sees pain. Confusion. Well. His best friend almost died. 

“You saw to it that I didn’t.” He takes a deep breath. “Thanks, by the way. For uh, making sure I didn’t...” Jaskier sweeps a finger across his neck.

Geralt turns away. “You said you loved me.”

“Oh,” He taps his fingers against the blanket. A familiar song. “Yes, I did. But! But. We can absolutely forget about all that. Continue... as we were. Before I said that.”

“You meant it?”

“No, Geralt. I wasted my dying breath professing my love for no reason!” A sharp, annoyed sigh bursts out of him. “Of _course_ I meant it. I love you. With all my heart. To my dying breath. I mean, obviously on that last part, but-”

“Don’t.”

His heart begins to sink. “You’re the one who wanted to talk about this.”

“No. I didn’t mean-” Geralt runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t die. Don’t give your last breath to me. I want. I want more than your dying fucking breath.”

Jaskier shakes his head. “I don’t understand. I can’t help _dying_. I mean, those bandits shot at me. And I wasn’t even insulting them yet!” It was all so fast. He felt the life seep away from him. If he was to die, he was going to do it dramatically- and letting Geralt know that he was loved. So loved.

“Jaskier. You stupid fuck.” Geralt moves closer. Uncrosses Jaskier’s arms. Holds his hands gently. “Don’t wait until you’re about to die to tell me you love me. Because.” He clears his throat. Looks away. “What do you want me to say? I’m not. I’m not _good_ at this.”

“Perhaps if you picture actually stabbing me in the heart, that would help.” He pipes up.

Geralt rolls his eyes. “You tried to run away. You thought I’d. Be unhappy. I’m not. _Fuck_." Another sigh. "You don’t need to run. And you can’t die. So-”

Something clicks. “Oh. Oh!” And Jaskier smiles. “You _love_ me!”

Geralt nods.

“Well why didn’t you _say_ something?”

“ _You_ never said anything!” He hisses.

“Fair enough!” Jaskier squeezes Geralt’s hands. “I’m afraid I can’t come to you. I’m simply cocooned in bandages, and quite frankly, I’m exhausted. Would you mind very badly coming over here to kiss me? It’s the only logical conclusion to this little moment we’re having.”

“You’re an idiot.” But he’s smiling while he leans in. There’s no longer any pain in his eyes. Just relief.

Now that he knows he’ll live (with his heart in tact!), Jaskier will be able to show Geralt just how loved he is. And, he thinks, he might get to see just how loved he is in return.

**Author's Note:**

> idk man
> 
> xoxo


End file.
